


The Gifts of Sevenmas

by greenmtwoman



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A Blizzard and a Kiss, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Holidays, post-adwd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:46:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27825502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenmtwoman/pseuds/greenmtwoman
Summary: After A Dance With Dragons...For the past week they had struggled through deepening snow, sleeping uneasily in whatever barely sheltered spots they could find. The horses were exhausted. Brienne had wrapped a scarf around her face, covering everything but her eyes, which were red and streaming in the wind. The scarf was stiff with frozen breath and snot. Her wounded cheek, still healing, throbbed beneath it. The bones in her barely knit arm ached fiercely.Jaime’s beard had grown since they had left the Quiet Isle; it was white with rime. “Elder Brother warned us. We’re too late to get through.” They were leading their mounts since Jaime’s horse had stumbled and fallen to its knees trying to ford a partly frozen stream. The road was fast becoming invisible under the drifts. What had been a pretty dusting of snow in the Riverlands was an unforgiving barrier in the mountains.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 30
Kudos: 108





	The Gifts of Sevenmas

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be short and fluffy; inspired by the upcoming holidays. It got longer and more angsty, because they both had a fair amount of childhood trauma. So... I'm unsatisfied, and unbeta-ed, but it would be lovely if we got to 8000 JB fics by the end of 2020, and I'm doing my part!

“We won’t get to the Vale this way.” Jaime’s voice startled her; they hadn’t spoken in hours.

“We have to try.” Her own voice was hoarse from disuse and cold. “Lady Sansa is on the other side of these mountains.”

“Even if that’s so, our frozen corpses won’t help her.”

For the past week they had struggled through deepening snow, sleeping uneasily in whatever barely sheltered spots they could find. The horses were exhausted. Brienne had wrapped a scarf around her face, covering everything but her eyes, which were red and streaming in the wind. The scarf was stiff with frozen breath and snot. Her wounded cheek, still healing, throbbed beneath it. The bones in her barely knit arm ached fiercely.

Jaime’s beard had grown since they left the Quiet Isle; it was white with rime. “Elder Brother warned us. We’re too late to get through.” They were leading their mounts since Jaime’s horse had stumbled and fallen to its knees trying to ford a partly frozen stream. The road was fast becoming invisible under the drifts. What had been a pretty dusting of snow in the Riverlands was an unforgiving barrier in the mountains.

They almost missed the village in the falling darkness; the cottages were lumps shrouded in white. Only a few chimneys poking up identified them as anything more than natural hillocks. “No smoke, no lights, no people,” said Jaime. “No food or ale, worse luck, but a chance to get out of the storm.”

“This can’t be a village of the mountain clans. It’s too near the road.”

“And too large. These people are probably loyal to the Vale, and that’s where they’ve gone with their children, cattle, stores, spinning wheels and wagons, to shelter from the winter.”

The cottage they stumbled upon was only one room, but stone-built and sturdy, with an attached stable into which they led the tired horses. Brienne unwound her scarf, wincing as it pulled away from the tender new skin on her face, and wiped her nose inelegantly on her glove. “There’s still hay in the loft,” she observed, looking up. “Too much trouble for them to take it.”

“Lucky for us. If we couldn’t feed the horses, we’d have to eat them. Don’t scowl at me, you know I’m right. It doesn’t pay to get attached to them.”

 _Says the man who named his palfrey Honor._ “Your horse has a name.”

“That was my squires’ doing.”

It was a blessing to be able to leave the stable without going back out into the storm. There was even a privy shaft in a connecting shed, and enough wood. The people intended to return; it was clear. A crude table, a couple of stools and a blackened kettle had been left behind. Jaime caught her staring at the logs. “Don’t tell me that you won’t use their wood.”

“I’m not a fool. I don’t want to freeze. I wish we could leave payment for it.”

“A pouch full of stags and dragons wasn’t offered when we got away.”

Their escape from the Brotherhood was a blur; Brienne still didn’t understand exactly what had happened. Jaime had been standing before Stoneheart. He had given her a hard but strangely unsurprised look when he was seized and his sword taken from him. Lem had raised Widow’s Wail with an insolent smile, which vanished in a spray of hot blood when Brienne took off his head with a swipe of Oathkeeper. In that instant, when Jaime’s life had been immediately forfeit, she had no longer thought of whether Pod was safe. Her choice had been pure instinct, but it troubled her to know that she would make that choice again. The life of one innocent boy against the life of a soiled knight whose honor she nevertheless cherished? Jaime had snatched Widow’s Wail from Lem’s hand even as the big man fell, and then Thoros had been there, his own sword blazing, shouting at them to go. Stoneheart’s rasping words had been lost in the screaming around them. They had cut through two more men, then they were out of the cave, and unbelievably Pod and Hyle Hunt had been there with their horses. They had ridden hard for the Quiet Isle. She didn’t know what had happened to Thoros. She could only hope his red god had protected him.

She turned and began to methodically unpack their supplies. Bedrolls, food, extra bits of armor and harness, maps, a meagre few medicines and salves, that was all. When she had it laid out, she silently unbuckled her armor. She and Jaime hadn’t spoken beyond the necessary since they left the Quiet Isle. The things which needed to be said between them had frozen in her throat, and not only from the cold. She struck flint to light the fire, using a twist of straw from the stable for kindling. To her relief the chimney drew strongly.

She handed the kettle to Jaime. “We need water,” she said briefly. “Scoop up some snow to melt. Please,” she added in response to his scowl. _If he hates me, why is he here?_ When the kettle was full, she watered the horses and filled their water bottles.

She listened to Jaime’s armor falling to the floor with a clunk and heard a stifled hiss. He was trying to undo the straps which held the hook on his right arm. He hadn’t taken it off, as far as she knew, since their journey began. His gold hand had been left behind on the Quiet Isle, as payment for the help they had received. When Elder Brother had mildly protested that it was unnecessary, Jaime had snapped, “I want to be rid of the damned thing.”

Now he muttered a curse, and she picked up a small pot of ointment. “I can…”

“No need.” He all but snatched it out of her hand. The blunt end of his arm was raw and blistered, and red marks from the straps crisscrossed his bruised forearm. He pressed his lips together and began to rub it. After a moment he said, “It appears that we’ll be stuck here together until the storm lets up.”

******************************

Jaime massaged the salve gingerly into his stump. He had turned his back to Brienne. If she had fussed or seemed to pity him he would have lashed out, but she simply went about the necessary tasks with her damnable, dour competence. He had first noticed it when she neatly dropped a rock on Robyn Ryger’s pursuing boat. _She manages what needs to be done, without drama, quite unlike… some._

He resisted the childish impulse to throw his armor, and hers, carelessly into the corner. It would have made a satisfying crash. Instead he stacked it as neatly as he could. She had chopped some dried meat and onions and asked him to watch and stir as they simmered into a thin stew. “Am I a kitchen maid?” he snapped.

“No, and neither am I. I see no servants, here… Lannister.” He knew that her use of his surname was deliberate. “Only two hungry people.”

He shoved the kettle so its contents splashed, began to do as she asked, and forced himself to say, “That was unfair. I apologize. But I can’t promise this will be edible. I’ll probably manage to burn it.”

“I doubt it will poison us. It will be good enough.”

They spent the next hour in silence again, and he could stand it no longer. _She was never talkative, but this is absurd._ “Wench. Brienne. Talk to me. I’ll go mad if there’s nothing to look at but stone walls and your stone face.”

For several moments he thought she would remain mute. Finally she said, “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” He wanted this confrontation; it was overdue.

“Why?” She finally looked at him. “Because I lied to you, and you can’t forgive me.”

“Is that what you think?”

“I don’t know what to think! I don’t know why you’re here at all.”

“Very well, perhaps we should discuss this lie of yours. From Pennytree to Stoneheart, from Stoneheart to the Quiet Isle, from the Quiet Isle to here, I don’t think you’ve strung together more than two sentences. Isn’t that what friends do, talk to one another?”

“We’re not friends,” she muttered.

“No? Then what are we? Certainly not companions chance met on the road. Are we enemies?”

Her head came up sharply. “You trusted me and I betrayed you.”

“Oh, wench. Was it betrayal when I suspected it from the start? You’re the worst liar I’ve ever known.”

“Why did you follow me?”

“Because I wanted to know your reasons. When we met at Pennytree you’d aged ten years. _But you still had remarkable eyes._ You looked half dead, and whatever had happened to you, I was responsible for sending you out to face it.”

“It was my vow and my choice when I left King's Landing. And I had Pod. He came trailing after me, looking for your brother.”

“Pod.”

“Yes, Pod! He’s a brave boy. He threw a rock… I’m glad he’s safe. That was why… Jaime, I couldn’t. If it had only been me… but she was hanging him. He’s ten years old.”

“Hardly older than Bran Stark was. Nothing – nothing you have ever done or could do will compare to my deeds. I’m here because I’m grasping at my last chances of honor. And because you’re the most honorable person I’ve ever known. You have an irritating way of making me better than I am. So let me hear no more talk of betrayal.”

“Are you angry?”

“Of course!” He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Being condemned by an undead Catelyn Stark and nearly losing my head to my own sword was not what I expected when I came with you. Being angry is my consolation. Each time we’ve parted it has been a mistake. I’d rather be with you and angry, than apart and forced to worry about what is happening to you." 

She busied herself with the food. “So you say that we’re friends in spite of it all?”

“Would you prefer me to say allies and companions? Wench.”

“My name is…”

“Wench Brienne.”

“You’re insufferable, not amusing.”

“Would you rather share a roof with Hyle Hunt?”

“Hardly. You heard him at our farewell.”

Ser Hyle had bid goodbye to them at the Quiet Isle with evident relief. “Tarth is a prize, to be sure, and I’d have made you a satisfactory husband, but wooing you is far too dangerous for my taste. There are safer maidens in the world. Keep your Sapphire Isle. I’ll leave you to the protection of the gods and the Kingslayer. Though perhaps they need protection from you. Farewell, Lady Brienne.”

“Farewell, Ser Hyle,” she had replied. “I sincerely hope you find a wife who is in every way worthy of you.” 

_I believe she made a jest. How extraordinary._ Jaime grinned. “I don’t know if he understood you, but I enjoyed it.”

“I wasn’t sorry to part from Ser Hyle, but I miss Podrick.”

Jaime had told Pod that wherever Tyrion might be, he wasn’t with Lady Sansa. “The boy is safe, thanks to you.”

They had left him on the Quiet Isle, refusing to accept his protests of, “I want to go with you, Ser my lady!” Despite all that had happened, Pod had insisted, “I’m safer when I’m with you, and you need me to protect you!” He had eyed Jaime with suspicion. Brienne had barely consoled the boy by promising that she would return for him as soon as she could.

“The owners of this house will be eating better than this, wherever they are. Do you know what week this is?” Jaime asked as they soaked pieces of hard bread in the stew. She furrowed her brow.

“It’s… it’s Sevenmas.”

“I’m sorry I have no Sevenmas gifts for you, but we have a fire, a roof, enough food, and we won’t have to eat our horses. What more could two hedge knights want?”

He was rewarded by a slight upturn of her mouth, and a spark in her blue eyes. “Are we hedge knights now?”

“Ser Jaime One-Paw and Ser Brienne… Ser Brienne the Sapphire Maid. Off to rescue a fair lady from the slimy clutches of Littlefinger.”

“I’m not a knight, and you’re ridiculous.” She had ducked her head when he referred to her as ‘Ser.’

“You asked me why I’m here? My job in the Riverlands is done – and without, mark you, shedding the blood of Stark or Tully. The damned Blackfish is still on the loose, but I have men looking for him. Addam is more than capable of herding the army back to King's Landing. At this moment, you’re the only one in the world who knows exactly where I am. It’s the most free I’ve been in more years than I can remember.”

“But aren’t you eager to return to…” She stopped.

“Gods, no.” He looked away. He could feel a muscle in his jaw twitching. _No? Yes? No? Cersei. Beautiful, golden and false._ “No. That’s over. Done. Finished.”

“I see.”

 _Is she actually looking at me with compassion?_ “No, you don’t. You know nothing about betrayal. Do you want me to tell you about betrayal? It’s learning that you’ve been lied to not once, but for years. Learning that the center of your world doesn’t exist. That your life has been built on a delusion.”

A window shutter rattled, and he rose and pushed it closed. Why did he tell this homely, stubborn girl his secrets? He had done it before. _She’s a naïve child despite her height and muscles._ His anger made him want to rub her face in the dirt of the world. He also wanted to protect her from everything and everyone, including himself.

“Your sister, the Dowager Queen,” she said calmly. “I’m not astonished.”

“You’re not?”

“I’m not as simple-minded as you imagine. Not any longer. You’re an honorable man. She is… not an honorable woman.” She glanced at him and returned her gaze to the fire.

“I threatened to send Edmure Tully his newborn babe with a trebuchet. That’s how I honorably broke the siege at Riverrun without taking up arms.”

Her wide mouth hung open in shock, giving him a good look at her crooked teeth. “You wouldn’t have done it.”

“No? I might have. Edmure believed that I would. I’m the Kingslayer, after all.”

“You wouldn’t harm a babe. You protect the innocent. That’s why you’re the Kingslayer, Ser Jaime.”

“Do you believe matters are that simple? I’m going to look at the horses. He left before she could speak again. It was odd; occasionally Brienne reminded him of young Tyrion, before his brother had built a protective wall of irony and bitter wit. The horses were content, as he’d known they would be, but their company was calm and undemanding. He leaned against Honor and the palfrey whuffled at his ear. By the time he returned, Brienne had set their bedrolls by the fire and was lying with her back turned.

******************************

Brienne wasn’t precisely comfortable after that, but matters were easier. Perhaps they could talk of long-ago, neutral things. “It would be Father’s Day if we were out in the world. What did you give your father when you were growing up?”

“Lord Tywin wasn’t interested in childish presents. He would demand that we recite the Lannister descent from Lann the Clever to himself, giving at least one fact about every Lord of Casterly Rock; a different fact from each of us, of course. Then he would tell us where we were wrong.”

“That sounds horrible.”

“It wasn’t entirely bad. Tyrion would invent obscure and outlandish facts and sneak them into the recital. He was usually clever enough to get away with it.”

“Father’s Day always made me remember – as if I ever forgot – that I’m my father’s only living child. The last and least, as my septa told me. I embroidered handkerchiefs for him with crooked moons and suns and he pretended to like them.”

“How do you know he was pretending?”

“Because it was very bad stitching from a child who was useless as a daughter but couldn’t be a son.”

There was a long pause. His voice was quiet. “My children were never mine. But I would have treasured their gifts, no matter how imperfect.”

 _His sister. I won't think of that. He says it’s finished._ “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She could see his defenses rise. “Lannisters make terrible fathers. After all, my own father was killed by my brother. It doesn’t get much worse than that.”

“You’re the best of your family.” He made a scoffing noise. She met his eyes, not dropping hers as she wanted to do. His face softened.

“A man of honor, wench? Is that what you think?”

“I do.”

“Perhaps I’ve made a beginning. You… have been helpful.” He cleared his throat and poked needlessly at the fire. “Mother’s Day. What was that like on Tarth?”

“A day for remembering. My father would tell me stories about my mother, about when they met and how she loved to sing and to swim. He had her portrait, but I couldn’t remember her. He would give me a piece of her jewelry every Mother’s Day; none of it looked right on me.”

“Were her eyes blue?”

“Yes. I could see that she’d been a little like me, but not so… She was more of a woman.”

“Oh, you’re a woman, unlikely as it seems. I’ve seen proof.”

The baths at Harrenhal. _I was naked as my nameday. So was he. Half a corpse and half a god._ She let the remark pass. “By the evening, my father would be a little drunk and sentimental. His women didn’t enjoy that.”

“Women?”

“He had women after my mother, but he never remarried. They came and went. Some were kinder than others, but mostly they ignored me. I was inconvenient.”

“We didn’t celebrate Mother’s Day. My father never spoke about my mother after she died.”

“How old were you?”

“Seven. She died birthing Tyrion. My father hated him for it. So did Cersei.”

“But you didn’t.”

“He was so small. How could I hate someone so small? He didn’t have anyone else; even his wet nurse didn’t like him. So I tried to take care of him.”

“Do you remember your mother?”

“A bit. She was gentle, I think, an unusual trait in a Lannister. When she alive, my father occasionally smiled. Before her death she worried that my sister and I were… too close, but after she died, we were all each other had. All that mattered was us. Or so Cersei told me, and so I wanted to believe.”

“You cared for your brother. You are not your sister.”

“It’s kind of you to say so. Even kinder if you believe it. I don't know if I do.”

******************************

The snow continued to fall and they sparred in the stable, in the half dark, with the horses stamping nervously, until she nicked Jaime’s arm with Oathkeeper. Valyrian steel was too dangerous in the close quarters. After that, they satisfied themselves with drills, carefully worked out, just enough to keep their muscles loose. Spar, feed and water the horses, eat, sleep, and talk. Talk in the gloomy daylight, with a curtain of white outside. Talk while staring into the fire, chewing their meals and sharing sips from their one wineskin. Talk lying under blankets at night while the wind howled.

“Warrior’s Day was the best, for me. Every year there would be larger armor, a new shield, even a sword. A sparring match for me to show off.”

“Which I’m sure you enjoyed.”

He shrugged. “I was the best. Of course I enjoyed it. You would have, as well, until I defeated you.”

“Your modesty impresses me.”

“Tyrion was given armor, too, specially fitted for him. He could watch, but my father forbade him to spar. ‘Lannisters don’t appear as fools in public.’ It would have been kinder to ignore him altogether, but Lannisters aren’t kind.”

“You’re always saying Lannisters are and Lannisters aren’t. Lannisters do this and Lannisters don’t do that.” _Were you ever just Jaime to anyone?_

“I showed Tyrion some basic drills, but then I went off to squire for Sumner Crakehall, leaving him behind.”

“My father didn’t know what to do with me, but at least he tried to be sympathetic. My brother gave me a wooden sword the last Sevenmas before he died. I loved it. I went about shouting and swinging it until I broke a window. Septa Roelle took it away, but Galladon found it and gave it back to me. I hid it under my mattress. I was four. It’s the last memory I have of him. I’m glad it’s a happy one. When my father saw me playing with the sword later, he just winked.”

“My father died with Tyrion’s whore in his bed. I told Tyrion a terrible lie about his first wife. Tyrion told me that he had killed Joffrey. Maybe he did and maybe he didn’t. My sister has been fucking our cousin Lancel, and Osmund Kettleblack and Moon Boy for all I know. That’s my loving family for you.”

She could tell that he took a bitter relish in his family’s pathology. She said the first, inadequate thing that came into her head, “Who is Osmund Kettleblack?” _And why would the Queen want him when she had Jaime?_

“He’s what the Kingsguard has been reduced to. A greedy oaf who thinks that he can find promotion between my sweet sister’s thighs.”

“Ser Jaime. Jaime,” she said awkwardly. “Maybe you shouldn’t tell me this. They are still your family. You’ll return to them eventually.”

“Do you think so? You bring out this weird compulsion to honesty in me. Or mayhaps I simply enjoy shocking you. Are you shocked?”

“I keep telling you that I'm not the innocent I was once.”

“I spoke with Elder Brother while you and Pod were recovering. He had heard some interesting tales. About orphans, and the Bloody Mummers and a fight of seven against one. There should be a song sung of you. The Warrior was with you, my lady.”

“So was a lad named Gendry. But I’m marked as the Warrior’s.” She touched her cheek, rubbing the ruined flesh. “Not the Maiden’s. I’ve never belonged to the Maiden. Our escape wasn’t the first time I’ve killed men. The inn wasn’t the first time either. It changed me.”

“It does.” Jaime raised his brows in silent inquiry.

“I searched for Sansa in the wrong places, chasing rumors. Three of the Mummers followed us. I fought them at Crackclaw Point. One of them lost a hand before he died. That was for you.”

She wasn’t looking at him, but she heard his indrawn breath. “You told me to live and take revenge. It seems that you’ve done it for me.”

“They deserved it, and I owed you.” _That one’s for Jaime._

“Aren’t we beyond talk of debts by this time? If I’d known how formidable you are, I’d have been more wary as your captive.”

She shook off the compliment. “It’s growing dark. Darker. We should eat and try to sleep again. The snow may ease tomorrow.”

******************************

But still it snowed. “We gave gifts to all the servants and workers on Smith’s Day.”

“So did we.”

“Nicely calibrated to their status and length of service at Casterly Rock. Everyone from the washerwomen to the lion keepers. Did you know that we had live lions once? They lived in underground cages; they were pitiable, really. The steward handed out the gifts; we stood on a balcony overlooking the courtyard and nodded graciously.” Jaime inclined his head to left and right. “Everyone more or less groveled; my father expected it. It was boring.”

“One year, the armorer made a gift for me. I didn’t expect it and I don’t know why; he’d never paid attention to me, except to smirk when he saw me training.” Brienne rose and fumbled in a pouch. “I still have it; it’s one of the few things from home that I haven’t lost.” She held it out on a broad palm; a shield-shaped brooch enameled with the arms of Tarth.

She feared that Jaime might scoff, but he simply said, “That’s fine work. The man may have thought better of your abilities than he could say.”

“At Evenfall there was a big feast for everyone after the gift-giving.”

“You ate with the servants?”

 _That remark was pure Lannister._ “On that day, yes. Everyone was all mixed together.” She remembered the noise and the heaping platters of food. She had sat in a corner, unnoticed but happy; Ser Goodwin had brought her honeycakes and for once no one paid much attention to the Evenstar’s daughter. Even Septa Roelle had drunk too much mead, and her wimple had slipped askew.

“Then there was Crone’s Day." Jaime shrugged. "It never meant much to me.”

“I had to give something to Septa Roelle. Each year I tried to find something she would like, but I didn’t have much luck. I wanted her to approve of me. She never did.”

“She was a fool. Have you ever met Olenna Tyrell?”

“Once. She inspected me.”

“That must have been terrifying. That old woman terrifies me; I’ve always thought of her as the Crone incarnate, and kept well away.”

“She told me I was singular.”

“A good word. She had the wisdom to see that you’re unique.”

She knew that she was reddening. _Jaime called me unique. Was that praise? Unique._ The word took away some of the sting of her memories. “Septa Roelle told me that I’d find truth in my mirror, not in men’s words.”

“Oh, yes. Your septa was such an expert on men.”

“She wasn’t wrong. You’ve called me ugly to my face.”

“And so? Remember, there are no women like you, only you.”

******************************

“Who wants to think about the Stranger? My mother’s tomb was the most elaborate in the crypts at the Rock, but we only went there that one day. My father didn’t weep. He took her death as a personal offense. Worse, he didn’t allow Tyrion to come with us. He said that Tyrion didn’t deserve to mourn her. Tyrion sent him to join her, but no one is mourning Tywin.”

“On Tarth we bury those we love in the open air, shaded by trees, with flowers around them.”

“Very quaint.”

“Better than leaving them in the dark. The septons say that we dress up to remind us that we are all the same regardless of our outer form, and that the Stranger may come at any time in any guise.”

“I’ll meet the Stranger with a blade in my hand, and I’ll make sure he knows who I am.”

That earned him a faint snort of laughter. Brienne was a hunched shape to his left, cleaning Oathkeeper, though the sword didn’t require it. “I’m sure you plan to beat him back into one of the seven hells.”

“Who better? I know him; I’ve sent men to meet him. Others I’ve kept from him.”

“Including me.”

“Oh, I think you'd have given him a good fight on your own, wench.”

“Did you dress up on Stranger’s Day?” she asked. It was an innocent enough question, but he didn’t want to answer it. “When we were small my sister and I would swap places, and no one could tell us apart. Other than that… remember, ‘Lannisters don’t appear as fools in public,’ and what would my brother have done? Disguised himself as some different dwarf?”

“I liked Stranger’s Day, after the trip to the graves. Under my mask, no one knew if I was girl or boy, highborn or low, hideous or fair.”

“The moment you spoke they’d know you were highborn.”

“I didn’t need to speak. I danced as if no one could see me.”

He opened his mouth to say something easy and unkind, but let the words go unspoken. “You dance well enough with a blade in your hand.”

“Only once did I dance before everyone, like a lady. When Lord Renly came to Tarth. He made me feel like…” She shook her head. “I wanted to serve him, and I failed him.”

Jaime felt a flash of protective anger. She was much too good to still mourn Renly and his meaningless charm. _Renly thought her absurd, but she doesn't need to hear that._ The pretty pretender was dead and his casual scorn no longer mattered. “You couldn’t be expected to battle a shadow.”

“I couldn’t, but I'll always wish I could have done.”

******************************

“Father, Mother, Warrior, Smith, Crone, Stranger. We’ve spoken of all the gods but the Maiden.”

Brienne shrugged awkwardly. “Why would we speak of the Maiden? There’s no one here who owes her devotion.”

 _That’s irresistible._ “So says the Maid of Tarth? What an unexpected piece of information.” Even in the semi-dark he could see her blush, and all but feel the embarrassed heat of her skin.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Relax, wench. I’m glad you’re still a maid. I wouldn’t want my efforts to have been wasted.”

She frowned at him. “Maiden’s Day was for other girls. For me it was snickering in the sept and presents that were all wrong.”

He remembered Cersei, beautiful and not a maiden, with her gifts spread around her, receiving them as her due. _She lied to the gods, but I never believed she would lie to me._ “Flowers, sweets, silks and jewels?”

“A few.”

“What did you want that you didn’t get? Mace and morningstar?”

She was silent for so long that he was sure she wouldn’t answer. He could see the shine of her eyes, and then she turned her head so that he could no longer see her face. “On Maiden’s Day I would get dresses and ribbons…”

“And of course you would have preferred breeches and jerkins.”

“That wasn’t what I was going to say. They were always…” Her breath caught. “They were as ugly as I was. They never fit right, the colors were muddy or too bright… My father didn’t know how to choose, and my septa didn’t care, or else she enjoyed making me look foolish. I wanted a pretty dress. Even if I wasn’t pretty, was it so impossible for me to have a pretty dress?”

“Blue. Didn’t they know you should wear blue?” _To bring out your eyes._

“Septa Donyse… you sent her to me. That blue dress was the nicest I ever had.”

Sometimes he forgot how young she still was. “It looked well on you. Do you still have it?”

“I left it behind in King's Landing. I couldn’t wear it on the road.”

“Perhaps you can retrieve it someday.”

“I doubt it. My way lies east and north.” She abruptly changed the subject, peering out into the dark. “I believe the snow is finally lessening. Morning will tell us. We should sleep now.”

“Before we sleep, there’s a gift I’d like to give you. For Maiden’s Day, if you will.”

“I shouldn’t have spoken of it; I want no gift. You gave me my sword. You gave me Oathkeeper and trusted me with your honor. That was the finest gift; don’t spoil it by mocking me, ser.”

“That was a gift for the Warrior, who you are. But no gift for the Maiden, and you are also hers. Your Ser Goodwin told you that, and he seems to have been a wise man.”

She moved to take the stew from the fire. The easiness they had achieved when speaking of their childhoods had vanished. She gave it a stir and moved the kettle to the edge of the embers. When she straightened up, Jaime was close behind her.

He put a hand on her shoulder and turned her. “Maidens should be kissed.”

Her eyes were wide and shocked. And skeptical. “You don’t want to kiss me.”

“But I do.”

******************************

If he had lunged at her she would have hit him, but he closed the gap between them slowly. He put his lips to her scarred, cratered cheek softly, gently, but not hesitantly. He stayed there for a moment and she felt his breath against her skin. Their eyes were still open when he withdrew his mouth and rested his forehead against her. He looked up. She had once thought of his eyes as emeralds. Sparkling, yes, but also sharp and cutting. But when she looked at him now, when she dared to look at him plainly, she saw the green of deep woodland and the softness of moss. He didn’t step away; nor did she. This time it was her lips he sought, asking, not demanding. His eyes closed at last, and so did hers. His mouth was soft and his beard scratchy and then he looked at her again, eyebrows raised.

“Oh,” she said. She was trembling, but she hoped he couldn’t feel it.

“Oh?”

“That was…” It was hard for her to say what it was; easier to say what it was not. “That wasn’t my first kiss.”

“No?” He tilted his head, sounding honestly curious.

“Owen Inchfield kissed me at Highgarden. It was a jape, part of a bet.” _I don’t want to speak of that. Not now, not here._ “I knocked him into a cookfire.”

“I’m sure he deserved it.” Jaime held up hand and stump in pacification. “If you want to do the same to me, I won’t stop you. Not that I could.”

“I don’t want to knock you into the fire.” It took a different type of courage to approach him herself, just as slowly, bending her head, expecting him to turn aside rather than rise to meet her. Her arms were still by her side, and then they were on his shoulders, and his were sliding around her waist. This kiss lingered and his tongue moved against hers before they stepped apart in mutual agreement.

She felt cold without the warmth of him against her; she tried to keep her voice level, as if this had been nothing. “If there’s a chance the storm is abating, we need to get a good night’s sleep,” she said.

He took a deep breath and rubbed his hand over his face. “I agree. Rest well, Brienne.”

They were settled into their bedrolls, pretending to breathe evenly, before she spoke again, glad to be hidden by the darkness. “That was… You should know… I liked it. Good night, Jaime.”

******************************

They woke the next morning to weak sunshine coming through the cracks in the shutters. The blizzard had ended in the night. Brienne was busy, stern-faced, reluctant to meet Jaime’s eyes, snatching glances when he turned away. He wondered if dreams had troubled her sleep. He had woken half-hard from a dream of gentle hands, strong arms and blue eyes. He had turned his back to her as her sleepy eyes blinked open, keeping his breath even, his hands outside the blankets and his gaze on the stones of the wall.

“We should get ready to leave,” she said gruffly, throwing a handful of oats into the remains of the stew; their usual breakfast. Then she shoved against the door, pushing hard against the piled snow. “If I dig through this, the snow may be less on the road.”

“I hope you’re not planning on continuing into the mountains.”

“No. We’ll have to go back. I’ll find a ship at Maidenpool which will give me passage to Gulltown. There’s no need for you to accompany me once I’ve found a vessel.”

“There’s every need. I want to see what you do. To watch you verbally spar with Petyr Baelish will be highly entertaining. I could be of use once he’s immobilized you in a tangle of words, like a spider with a large, juicy fly. If he even has Sansa, which we don’t know.”

“King’s Landing…”

“Holds no appeal. Will you continue to accept my company, or do I have to trail after you at a respectful distance?”

“Pack up then,” she said with a frown. “Make yourself useful.”

Was this the same wench who had shyly admitted to liking their kiss? She was using her shield as a shovel and he found himself admiring the strength in her arms and shoulders and the tireless flex of her legs. He wondered what the muscles would look like if he could see them under her thick layers of clothing. His memory of Harrenhal was clouded by pain and fever, but there had always been something indomitable about her. _But gentle. Gentler than Cersei. Indomitable. And innocent._

******************************

They paused at a bend in the road to look back at the cottage before it was hidden by the snow-laden trees. “I wonder where we’ll be next Sevenmas?” said Brienne. “I mean… I wonder where I will be and where you will be.”

“Not together?”

“I hadn’t intended to say we.”

“Why not? ‘We’ has a fine sound to me. Our roads seem to converge, by the workings of fate. I may even ask another kiss on next Maiden’s Day – unless you will allow it sooner.”

She made no answer, just turned her horse’s head into the road, but he thought he saw her smile as she tucked her chin into her collar.

**Author's Note:**

> I love comments, and please tell me where I could have done better!


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